Resident Evil 4: The Merchant's Escape
by Ma3k
Summary: Leon has just rode the elevator to face Lord Saddler in the final battle, yet below him, where he has just left Ashley, another story is unfolding, how the Merchant escaped from the island.


_Merchant's Escape_, by Martin Scott

The elevator clattered, shook and then whirred upwards with the sound of metal cables pulling tightly, echoing away into the canopy above. The merchant turned, curious as to whether there had been only one passenger ascending to the cliff top. The sound of soft, pondering footsteps met his ear; it was the girl the stranger had with him. Looking past the stem of the torch, peering down the staircase, he could see her head craning back, watching and waiting for the stranger to return. She was clasping her wrists anxiously, with an expression on her face that reflected the same distress. The merchant continued to observe the girl growing fearful, as she made slight, nervous mannerisms. In his mind he could hear her troubled breath. He turned and started walking slowly towards the head of the dusty, stone stairwell, trying not to startle the girl in her worried state. He opened his mouth to speak, and hesitated, before continuing in as soft a tone his earthy voice could manage:

"Excuse me, stranger,"  
Ashley spun around in fright, throwing her arms out to her sides as though to grab hold of imaginary surrounding walls to prevent falling backwards.

"I'm sorry, stranger. Didn't mean to scare ya." The merchant exclaimed sincerely: gesturing with his hand apologetically.

"You surprised me, I forgot you were there." Ashley replied, looking up at the hunched trader with mild embarrassment.

"Left you behind, has he?" The merchant asked, his tone of voice returning to its contempt roughness.  
Ashley took a step towards him, and said "He sensed something that would have put me in danger." She paused. "I trust him." The words did not seem to flow as easily as she thought. "He'll be back."

"I'm sure he will." The merchant said confidently, sensing the girl's doubt.  
Suddenly, the muffled sound of monstrous, agonising shrieks rang out from the platform above. It sounded as though flesh was literally being torn from limbs and bones, yet the intensity and the horror of such noise was somehow deadened by the distance and the obstacles, until a muted concept of the actions taking place was all that could be established by the two characters below.  
Ashley listened intently; hoping the mechanical clank of the elevator motor would start. Instead, only a howl of an enraged beast came echoing down the frame of the shaft.

"Leon…" Ashley said under her breath. The merchant flung open his weighted jacket, and reached inside with his free hand, withdrawing a pistol from a sewn-in holster.  
Ashley glanced over and caught a glimpse of the black barrel rising into view. Instantaneously she ducked, covering her forehead with her hands.

"No need to worry." The merchant said, lowering the side-arm. "I'm not gonna do anything to hurt ya."  
Ashley reluctantly stood upright, bringing her hands down to her sides. Gun shots rang out from above; scattered, random, desperate.  
The merchant hurried down the staircase, his dark robes catching the steps behind. His eyes glared; bloodshot yet with a sense of calculation.

"There is something coming," he said in a foreboding croak, "…and it's time for me to move on."  
Ashley responded with a puzzled expression, which quickly regressed into despair as a sickening cacophony of blazing gunfire and insane screams rained down upon her. Somewhere within it she distinguished the faint sound of a mechanism lifting and dropping in sequence.

"That is the signal." The merchant said with a strange air of calm expectation, as he focussed on the cliff top.

"What signal!" Ashley shouted, her voice overcome with fright.

"The signal to leave." He replied confidently.  
Ashley began pacing up and down, listening to the battle with a sunken heart. The merchant moved closer, flicking his sight from Ashley to the sky, and back again. He extended his free hand, as though to offer her an embodiment of escape.

"Are you coming with me?" he said boldly.

Ashley - drifting into a claustrophobic world without hope - did not respond. The merchant lent closer, and spoke again.

"Are you coming with me?"

Ashley's unconscious mind drove her to turn in attention, but she made no comment. The merchant patted a hand on her small shoulder.

"He's…" the merchant paused, cowering somewhat at the thought of telling this desperate girl the truth as he saw it. "The stranger isn't…"  
Suddenly, above the howls came the booming sound of a hollow object swinging into a solid, unyielding hulk. A dull, sonorous clang beat its way down the shaft, pushing the two figures apart. Ashley was flung back into reality, reeling as though the vibrations had actually set her off balance. She stumbled backwards, and then fell to one knee.

"Come on!" The merchant yelled, as he headed for the mouth of the cave beside them. Ashley remained in a stooped position, staring aimlessly at the dusty ground.

"His return, the stranger's return, will be too late." The merchant shouted, his rough voice grinding against the furrow of rocks around him. He clambered upward, with a flurry of scree and dust.

"It's your last chance." He shouted with a somewhat defiant tone, which lingered in the heated air above the gunfire.

Ashley turned slowly; a blank expression adorning her face.

"He's coming back." She said in a voice too soft to be heard.

The merchant took one more look at her crouched form, and disappeared into the glowing light.

Fingering his way through the dry, jagged rocks, he began to taste the tang of water vapour in the air. His eyes were squinting at the brightness of the lamps lighting the passage ahead. The path crept under his feet, as the gaps between the rocks widened. Soon he dropped down a short, dry slope of silt, scraping his gloved hands against the arched walls either side of him. Gradually, the rock receded and the tunnel broadened. The jagged rubble turned to pebbles and stones, and the sand became moist. The walls trickled subtly with saline water, and dissolved limestone dripped into fronds and points. The collection of stalactites was small but the illusion was of many tightly grouped in protruding grey shadow. Finally, the merchant passed the large, white, burning dome of the oil lamp, and could see darkness ahead.

A slight breeze touched the exposed band of his face, evidently carrying the smell of salt. The path twisted to the right and then separated at a fork. The merchant hardly stopped for breath, pressing on into the left tunnel. The ceiling was low and the floor was slippery. From beyond the growing darkness came the sound of possessed voices, abnormally shrill or deep, barking orders at each other. The merchant paused, trying to assess how many lay ahead. The voices crossed and meddled, refracting off the mouths of sinkholes and hollows, spiralling up the curves of the passage until nothing but a conglomerate notion of the people could be heard. In as quiet a manner as was feasible, the merchant armed his pistol; dulling the clicks under his heavy cloak. He quickly stepped backwards until his back pressed against the near tunnel wall. Just ahead, the passage curved to the right as the ceiling lowered. Sliding along the wall, the merchant gradually descended the slope down to the cave. As he reached the foot of the slope, the darkness dissipated to a degree, allowing him to suggest that the tunnel continued to curve to the right whilst narrowing to about two thirds of the size it was where he currently stood.

As he pressed on, the voices grew louder, jumping from one volume to the next between the pauses. Ahead, a small, hanging red-glass oil lamp radiated a ruby gloom that highlighted silhouettes of discarded wooden planks and crates. The curvature of the tunnel was too sharp to see those who were talking, but the sounds had separated to the extent where the merchant could estimate the number of people. There were about eight voices in total, all oblivious to the trader's presence. He waited until the conversation continued, hoping it would pose too great a distraction to draw attention to himself. He scurried across and ducked behind a stack of wooden crates. From here he could see the shadows of people carrying boxes, riding up the cylindrical walls of the tunnel. He looked around and could see, tucked inside a large hollow, the bottom half of a man sat at a small table, wearing camouflage trousers and sturdy, brown boots. The upper body was obscured by the darkness caused by the shape of the wall surrounding the hollow, but it appeared as though there was some sort of book or folder, laying open, flat on the tabletop. The man occasionally tended to the book with a pale, diseased looking hand, and as another page in the book rolled over, the merchant seized the opportunity to move forward, before diving down behind a pile of timbers lent up against a flatter area of the passage wall.

The length of the passage was in better view at this point. A crude fortification had been built out of punctured sand bags and rusted, corrugated iron sheets, down by a rickety jetty that stretched into calm, green water. There was also an oil drum in view, which had been filled with broken lengths of wood, and was burning steadily in one corner of the passage opening. Beyond the jetty, the cave roof extended high above the view attainable from the merchant's position, and the expanse of the water in the cave disappeared into the darkness metres away from the near shore. Stalactites reached down to meet stalagmites that broke the water's surface. The combination of the flickering flames and the elongated rock formations were casting shadows of prison-cell-bars throughout the cave, yet the irony of such imagery would not entrap the merchant's conscious. He was quietly searching for something to use to his advantage. His eyes stopped upon another oil drum, this one overturned, about two metres away, with the cap still screwed on tightly. He wondered whether it was full, and took a minute to work his way across to it. The weight of it indicated it that most of its content remained, so the merchant backed away into the safety of the shadows and rapidly produced a plan of attack.

One of the men walked into view at the opening of the passage, and continued walking on to the jetty, where he could be seen waving a boat into moor, grabbing a rope, and tying it to a post on the quay. The others were still out of sight, but the merchant sensed he had little time to spare. The merchant then picked up a stone and threw it down to the shore. A voice shouted something on hearing it, and the man on the jetty quickly turned to look up the passage. Pausing for a moment, the man stared into the passage, uncertain of what had thrown the stone. He frowned, gritted his teeth, then started walking towards the tunnel. Still fixated upon the dark of the passage, the man stopped by the fortification, bending over to pick up a cross bow that had been concealed somewhere behind it. He then walked towards the burning oil drum, constantly moving his head around in an attempt to see what had thrown the stone. He stopped at the drum, and leant to one side to get a better view of the tunnel, before withdrawing an arrow from a sack on the floor at his feet. He placed it into the bow's groove and proceeded to light the spiked tip on the flames before him. He turned his head to the right and called out something to his fellow men, before walking one foot in front of the other up into the passage. The merchant rolled backwards in the cover of the shadow until he sank back into the ruby gloom. From here he quickly crawled over a wooden crate and then backed into a hollow in the near wall.

The overturned oil drum was now only just in view from where the merchant crouched. To his surprise, the man at the table had gone. The merchant, feeling uneasy, scanned the passage; thinking he was about to be ambushed. He held his pistol ready, and waited tensely as the footsteps of the wild, orange-eyed man from the jetty grew louder. The merchant, unsure if he was cornered, reached into his jacket and unclipped a flash grenade. He paused, and then raised it into the air.

"Ooh dav VAA!" The possessed voice yelled, as the wild man raised and drew his weapon. The merchant pulled the pin and tossed the grenade in the foe's general direction. The canister struck the ground and burst into searing white light.

"Ahh!" the man cried, flinging his arms to shield his face. The merchant jumped to a standing position with his pistol at eye level, took two shots at the man's chest and sent him backwards. With a slight adjustment, the merchant fired another shot, into the man's right forearm, causing him to drop his weapon.

"Arghh!" The man growled, as he gripped his wounded arm with his undamaged hand, before rearing his face in anger.

With no less than a breath, the merchant fired a final shot, hitting directly between the eyes, toppling the man over. As he fell, his awkward motions caught hold of items around him, knocking them to the ground in the way of a band of men, who came racing up the tunnel, wielding axes and cattle prods. Most of the men were wearing the same camouflage trousers and grey flak jacket as the first; one had a motor-cycle-like-helmet on with the visor down. They scrambled into single-file, clambering over pieces of shattered wood and boards that were brought down by the flailing arms of the man who had just been shot. One leapt forward, clearing the dying soldier's squirming body. Brandishing a battered metal axe, enraged and mad, the man swung ferociously at the merchant's chest. The merchant jumped back, arching his spine to draw his torso away from the blade. The man's body lunged with the force of the swing, pulling him downwards. The merchant capitalised on the failed attempt and kicked the man hard in the ribs, sending him in reverse until his head was in view. There was barely a whimper uttered by the man before the merchant pumped a bullet in his throat at close quarters. Blood sprayed outward, spattering the merchant's clothes. Stumbling backward in shock, the man's actions showed little logic, as he tripped a fellow comrade with his right leg. Screaming in a harsh, almost unheard manner, the man through his axe blindly in the direction of the merchant. It spun over and over before clashing against the right wall of the passage. The scrape and clang abruptly cut out by the blow of another bullet the merchant fired as he strafed into the cover of another hollow. The decisive shot drove into the upper back of the tripped soldier lying on his face, who then strained with an arm into the space above, as though to grab something that could channel the pain out of him.

The merchant took a sharp breath, and then flashed a glance at the pack of them. The air was now filled by the hissing, crackling noise of the live cattle prods. It was time, the merchant thought, to put his plan into action. He leant out to take stock of the situation. At the same time, another bowman, at the back, took up a position next to the table where the man had been sat, and fired an unlit arrow at the exposed merchant. It skimmed the hooded head of the trader, before ricocheting off the far wall away up the passage. The merchant dared to look again, and could see three men were on their feet, only a couple of metres away, yelling undecipherable war cries that seemed even more menacing in the red glow of the dim light. The merchant ducked back, hearing them closing in, and then, just as suddenly, dived out.

The soldiers drove their weapons into the air, but the merchant hopped backwards, and with a burst of fire, took-out the glass oil lamp above. A ball of flames blew down on the men, who ran aimlessly towards the merchant. In outrage of the attack on his fellow men, the bowman shouted as he let loose another arrow. It coursed through the air but was blocked; careering into the burning torso of a wild soldier, who yelped in pain before stumbling to the floor. The bowman loaded his crossbow for a third time, and, instantaneously, fired at the merchant. It shot between two crazed soldiers' flailing arms, licked by the flames, and tore into the open air. This time it was on target, and struck the merchant in the shoulder, sending him off balance. The merchant dropped to a sitting position, and tightened a shaking grip on the stem of the arrow. In the commotion, he took a moment to prepare himself -taking a short breath, before pulling the arrow out of his shoulder. Under is veil his faced winced with excruciating pain, and for several seconds the expression was fixed upon his face, until it eventually began to ebb away. The merchant cringed, and lifted his head up, to see that the glow of flames had already died down. Out of his line of sight, the soldiers had dropped and rolled on the ground until the flames had been extinguished, and now started to pick themselves up, even as blackened and charred as they were.

The merchant pulled himself up to a crouching position, supporting himself on the wall behind. He turned his head more and then looked out from the hollow, expecting to see most foes had been eliminated. A thin trail of smoke coming from a few singed shards of wood, partially obscured his view, but then his focus accommodated the darkness, and he could make out human-like figures ahead. To the merchant's disgust, all of the soldiers, including those shot in the head, were miraculously standing upright, intent on the kill at stake. The merchant got to his feet quickly, knowing time was running out. The pack now had the upper hand, and they closed in to finish the merchant off, deranged expressions contorting their wild faces. The plan had failed, and the merchant began to panic, still unsure of an impending ambush.

Suddenly, the ground shook, and the soldiers stumbled, parting the pack. Seizing the opportunity to escape, the merchant sprung off the wall, fighting the vibrations. He ran for his life, pushing past the shocked men before diving behind a crate. The bowman, still stood by the table, braced himself against a wall, and took a shot at the merchant, missed by a whisker, and then reloaded. The merchant was only a few foot steps away from the bowman now, and, out of desperation, withdrew a survival knife from under his cloak and ran at the man, yet launching from the floor meant he could only get to waist height by the time he reached the soldier, so he drove the blade deep into the left thigh. The man howled and tried to choke the merchant, but the merchant wrestled him to the ground, pinning his shoulders down briefly. The earth shook again, and the two battling men rolled over, clawing at each other's faces. They rolled again and the bow got caught up in the merchant's cloak, tearing it away from the man. It spun horizontally across the floor, out of both of their reaches. The other soldiers closed in to aid their comrade. The soldier on the floor then rolled the merchant onto his back and pressed with half his weight, down on the merchant's chest. The other soldiers picked up their dropped weapons and began to take stances around the grounded pair, like butchers waiting for a rat to appear from under a table; waiting for a limb to be exposed so that they could lop it off with their cleavers.

It looked like the end for the merchant had finally come, but he continued to prolong it; jostling with a free arm until the knife could scratch at something on the soldier's body. Tormented into submission by the pain, the soldier's weight shifted to move his bloody side away from the cutting edge of the blade. The merchant pushed upward, and again the pair was flung into a scrap. They continued to punch and stab, and roll down towards the fortification, until they were halted by a round obstacle. The soldier ended up lying over the merchant, snarling at him, as he tried to suffocate the trader with his gnarled hands. Again the merchant fought back, and spun the bowman over, and in the confusion of the tussle, one of the on-looking soldiers lost patience, lashing out with a cattle prod. It barely missed the merchant but struck the soldier beneath him. Sparks flew. The bowman's grip released, as he reeled and jerked in agony. The merchant - thrown backwards from the volts - landed on his back, and rolled, instantly, towards the end of the passage, avoiding the falling axe of the helmet-wearing soldier. When the merchant came to a stop, a path, which trailed into the shallow water, lay to his left. Two men stood there, looking at him with animalistic loathing. Behind him was the jetty, and the motor boat which had moored there. To his immediate right, stood the burning oil drum, and the fortification. The bowman got up off the floor slowly, as the merchant rose to a crouching position. All of the men, some burnt, some heavily wounded, headed down the passage, to be joined by the men on the path to the left. The merchant felt for his gun, but it had fallen away from him. He scanned the floor but it was not in sight. He realised then that he had lost the knife, too. Out numbered, the merchant reached into his jacket, and fumbled for another flash grenade, but there was nothing of use to him left inside. He got up fully, and started backing his way down the jetty. The cattle prods crackled to the sound of the droning murmurs from the soldiers. The mood beckoned the end.

The merchant unarmed continued to move back, as though he could somehow still avoid this impending doom. His eyes tried to work out which of the men was closest, and whether he could fight them. He continued backwards, then suddenly was overcome with surprise. The merchant's footing seemed to be swiped away from him. His vision recorded the cave roof rushing into view, then dark wood grain. After the thud of his body landing on a solid object, he lay still for a second, trying to work out what had happened. He looked down to check his legs and realised he had fallen into the boat. His right foot lay resting on a rectangular, metal container, about half a metre long and 65cm wide. He could see the lock was undone, and suddenly, out of pure desperation, pushed off the metal seat his aching back lay upon, and checked the container. To his surprise, there was a weapon concealed inside; set in protective packing, fully assembled. It was a semi-automatic machine gun; a model which he recognised and knew how to operate. He snatched at it, grabbed a clip that lay in the box next to it, slammed it into the gun, and set it up against his hip. The soldiers yelled and ran towards him, all fixated upon bludgeoning the merchant to death. Spit and blood trailed from their foaming mouths, like rabid dogs. The first one that had been shot - standing even now - jeered from the back of the pack, defiant of the blood oozing from the crater in his forehead, but then fell silent as the earth shook again. The water, once calm, now rocked the boat, and the roof of the cave gave out a shower of water droplets. The merchant took no more chances, cocked the gun and opened fire.

The soldiers reeled backwards. Some fell to one knee before collapsing to the ground. A couple took cover on the opposite side of the sand bags, whilst bullets spun plumes of dust into the air as they penetrated the defence. The first bowman's head splattered in a fountain of blood and tissue, and the forerunners fell into the water. One man, wearing the helmet, continued running, bullets marking his sides with glancing blows. The merchant quickly turned to aim at the man's legs, knee-capping him into a plunge. Further back, the headless bowman's shoulders began to quiver, and, with a splatter of crimson, a Plaga drove itself out of the severed opening. Its bandy limbs ripped through the flesh, and its tentacles extended into the surrounding space, in an offensive manner. In between the two socket-less, putrid yellow eyes, stained with blood, came a larger, whipping tentacle -armed with a serrated blade which swung in vicious circles, flicking blood into the air, as though to intimidate anyone who opposed it. Closer to the jetty, the merchant fired to his left, halting a soldier dead in his tracks. On felling the foe, the merchant moved gingerly to the stern of the motorboat, as it rocked with the growing waves beneath. He steadied himself, aimed at the centre of the remaining soldiers, and opened fire again -this time until the clip was completely emptied. Bullets ricocheted off the corrugated iron, and drove into the water with sharp, angular, splashes. Screams multiplied under the streaking lead, whilst bodies clashed and twisted and dropped. And then, 'BOOM!'

Stray bullets had pierced the oil drum, causing it tear apart. Burning shrapnel flew through the air, pitting the walls, dashing the path, severing arms of dying soldiers. Blood, heat and death rained down on the jetty. The shock wave hit the merchant, who fell in between the wooden boards that made the seats of the boat. His cloak ruffled its way into the hull, just as the outer flames licked at the sides. A single wail cried out in vain, as the fireball consumed the men behind the fortification. The force of the blast tipped the upright oil drum, which poured its burning contents onto the smouldering carcass of a man's torso. As the fire rolled up into the lofty roof of the cave, extinguishing itself slowly in the damp air, the thick black smoke began to dissipate, clearing enough to see the passage. No-one was left standing. Charcoaled debris littered the shore, and shards of wood lay strewn over the boat. The merchant's ears rang and ached. He lifted his body hesitantly, before realising his jacket had caught alight. He hurried to beat-out the cluster of flames with his hands. Whilst doing so, the boat rocked again, as a stalactite feel away from the cave roof in the distance. The merchant sat up and peered over the edge. There were bodies lying down, drenched in blood, missing limbs, most blackened and still alight. He checked once more, in almost disbelief, and then turned around to loosen the singed rope from the jetty post. He struggled to make his way there, as the waves were now more violent, and the boat swayed uneasily, not just from side-to-side but up-and-down. He knew he had to leave immediately. The rope worked its way loose enough to free it from the mooring, and he pulled it into the boat. He did not look, but he could hear the echoing of waves throughout the cave, and the sound of cracking rock structures. Making his way towards the motor, his hands gripped the sides for balance. The engine only juddered with the first tug, but then kicked into action with the second. The merchant backed the boat into the deeper water, and turned it so that the bow swung to port, pushing the hunched body of a floating dead soldier along with it.

As he pulled away, a burning corpse erupted with the ignition of a grenade clipped to the flak-jacket. The motorboat parted the water into a v-shape, as the whole cave echoed, and from somewhere high above, explosions could be heard. The boat coasted on, bumping over the choppy waves, swerving around falling obstacles. The merchant veered it starboard and into the darkness of another tunnel. In the pitch black, with no indication of how far inside he was, it seemed to go on for too long. The merchant started to think he had taken the wrong turning, that in the madness of the situation, his mind had failed him, but then, to his relief, sunshine filled the passage and the cave roof rose to tower above open water. He had escaped. He had survived. The cliff face started to stretch out either side of him, whilst the boat bolted forward. Eventually, the far reaches of the island came into view. The merchant shifted up a gear, speeding away at full-thrust, the boat barely managing to stay on coarse as it was buffeted by ever-larger waves.

Gradually, the land-mass started to decrease in size. It appeared he was in the clear but then, suddenly, despite the great expanse of sky above him, the air filled with a roar like an avalanche. The merchant spun his head to see an almighty wall of water, about 8 metres high, come crashing out of the opening. Lumps of cone-shaped rock rode the upper-most crest, as it surged into the near water, toppling down with horrendous force. Like the epicentre of an earthquake, the wave sent out centric rings of water. The tsunami-like-waves careered under the boat and threw it into the air. The merchant froze as he saw the bottom of the boat racing towards troubled water below, then it landed. The force hardly compared to that just exerted by the wall of water, yet for the merchant, it was enough to shake him off the motor's handle, and throw him into the bow. The boat continued forward for a short distance before the propellers slowed to a stop. It then rocked with the waves, sliding sideways into the deep troughs, water spraying into it. A few moments passed, the merchant, shaken and wet, plucked up enough courage to get back to the stern. For a minute or two, he fought the tide - slipping backwards on the wet boards, occasionally knocked off-balance. He reached the handle, and fumbled for the cord. At last he had it in his grasp and tugged it with all the strength he had left in his battered body. The engine shuddered and then hummed, the propellers disturbed the water, and the boat lunged forward, tossing white spray out in its wake. The most violent waves had past, and the merchant took one last look at the island. Explosions still boomed across its breadth, with balls of orange flame. As the boat raced away, the explosions became a dull melody of a distant nightmare. He looked ahead; he was now focussed upon another distant shore, to which he would return, before leaving this place entirely. As he shot across the water, he heard the sound of a small aquatic vehicle heading away in a similar direction - another survivor perhaps. The mist drew close and the island faded into obscurity. The ordeal was finally over.


End file.
